


How Grima Stole The Winter Festival

by Dawn_Blossom



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Chrom's the mayor not the prince, Grima is more isolationist than murder-y but he still hates humans, Grima's heart suddenly melts when Chrom is nice to him and it's a Winter Festival Miracle, M/M, Morgan is Grima's apprentice, Ylisstol is a town not a big city, manakete!Morgan, this sounds like crack but it's not I'm dead serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawn_Blossom/pseuds/Dawn_Blossom
Summary: Grima dons a red suit and goes to town with his apprentice Morgan for one sole purpose: to stop the Winter Festival.





	How Grima Stole The Winter Festival

**Author's Note:**

> Okay listen I've had this idea since October, I finished writing it a couple days ago, and I was GOING to wait until December to post it, but... Well, the r/FireEmblemHeroes stream had David Vincent (m!Robin's VA) on today and he said that Grima looks like the Grinch. I mean, he's so right, but now I HAVE to post this before 300 people write their own Grinch!Grima fics and I look like I'm a copy cat ^^;;;
> 
> So yeah, I probably could have edited this a little more... But oh, well. If you don't want to deal with Chrom/Grima garbage, I'm not sure why you're looking at MY fics ^^

It is a cold winter morning, the sun has not yet broken past the horizon, and Grima should still be asleep in his mountainside lair.

He is not, and he is furious.

The humans down in the neighboring town of Ylisstol are TOO LOUD, damn it!

“They’re getting ready for the winter festival, Master Grima.” His apprentice, Morgan, is not nearly so perturbed by the disturbance. Of course, she is both far younger than him (clearly, though neither of them know her exact age because she had amnesia when he took her in) and half-human, and either of those conditions could bear on her sensitivity. “They do it every year, you know?”

“Yes, I _know,_ ” Grima growls through his teeth. He tries his best to ignore the hustle and bustle of the town, but he cannot simply pretend that a cacophony is not roaring so close to him. “Every year, they make so much noise that we can hear it out here in the wilderness! The selfish beings think that they are the only creatures who exist in the world, that they can do whatever they please whenever they please, time and again…”

“Well, our cave _is_ right next to the town. If we moved—”

Grima ignores his apprentice. They shouldn’t have to move. This cave is warm, and it stays dry, and frankly he would rather keep an eye on the humans than risk allowing them to blindside him at a later date. This is his home, and he will not go away because of the whims of self-absorbed creatures.

“Listen to them, Morgan,” he complains. “They’re putting up their big tree that they’ll stand around and scream at.”

“That’s called singing…”

“And they’ll have their huge feast, where they’ll stuff themselves with more food than their tiny stomachs can handle! They’ll gorge themselves to sickness while others starve!”

“I’m pretty sure they actually save and distribute the leftovers…”

“And the children! The children are showered with presents for no reason at all! They can’t even use most of what they receive, anyway!”

“But they look like they’re really happy…”

“It’s a waste!” Grima exclaims, shaking the ground as he rakes a claw against it. “This human festival is unnecessary, wasteful, and even harmful! Nature is depleted for their whims, and they grow weak and spineless in their luxury.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Morgan sighs. “It wouldn’t be so bad if they were more careful about it, though… Would it? The food looks like it tastes so good… And the decorations are so pretty, and the toys seem like so much fun…”

Grima pauses his rant, turning so that he can regard his apprentice with all six of his eyes.

“Morgan…” He says slowly. “Are you saying that you want what these humans have?”

“Um!” Her face flushes. She would have a much easier time hiding her emotions if she stuck to her scales, but for some reason, Morgan has always preferred her human apperance. “Master, I…”

“Don’t lie to me...,” Grima says warningly.

“It… It would be nice,” Morgan admits. “Just once…”

Poor girl. The humans have so much, and she has nothing. Every year, it is like this. The humans party to excess, and Grima and Morgan have naught but what they can gather themselves.

What they can gather for themselves…

Suddenly, a plan unfolds itself in Grima’s mind. His mouth reveals crooked teeth as it widens into a smile.

“You can have it,” he says. “You can have whatever you want.”

Morgan’s eyes light up.

“Really, Master Grima?” She claps her hands together. “We can go down? Can we go today? Oh, I know you don’t like resembling a human, but it would be so much easier if you’d use that form. We can say we’re travellers from another town, and maybe they’ll welcome us—”

“What are you talking about?” Grima interrupts. “Morgan, we don’t want to _talk_ to the humans.”

“We… don’t?” Morgan frowns.

“Of course not. We’re going to be taking their things from them,” Grima says. “The less we’re seen, the better.”

“O-Oh?” Morgan’s eyes widen. “Oh…”

She turns her head away, bringing up her arms to cover her mouth with the sleeves of her coat.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea, Master,” she mumbles through the fabric. “I don’t want a party that badly…”

“This isn’t just about you, child,” Grima says. Morgan’s reluctance is not altogether surprising. She is a powerful manakete, but she does not like using her power against humans. Grima blames an overemphasis on the sentimental value of her human blood. But he’s never been able to talk her out of it. “This is about teaching those awful, noisy, overbearing, _foolish_ humans a lesson that they’ve long deserved.”

“You’re… You’re not going to hurt them, right?” Morgan asks. 

Grima lets out an exasperated growl.

“No, Morgan, I won’t lay a claw on the humans,” he says. “In fact… I will not be using this form at all.”

“You’re going to go looking like a human?” Morgan suddenly sounds much more excited. “I haven’t seen you in that form for so long… Can I come with you? To see?”

Grima chuckles.

“Oh, you are most certainly coming,” he says. “You are critical to this plan.”

Morgan blinks.

“Have you heard the humans’ stories?” Grima asks. Their words carry on the wind to his ears, but he is not sure that Morgan can make them out in her state. “They tell tales of a mythical figure called ‘Santa Claus.’ He is a man said to be adorned in red and white.”

“I haven’t heard of anything like that,” Morgan says. “I’ve never seen anyone like that, either. What’s this man like?”

“He delivers presents on his flying sleigh,” Grima says. “Though he only delivers to those who deserve it. If such a man did exist, we would never see a trace of him, for there are none there to deserve his gifts.”

“But what does that have to do with us, Master?” Morgan asks. “It’s not like we can get this fictional man to… Wait, unless…” She tilts her head. “You say you’re going as a human…”

Grima smiles.

“I can wear red as well as anyone,” he says. “Morgan, you’ll fly my sleigh in your dragon form. We’ll deliver these humans what they deserve… An empty festival devoid of all their unjust gains.”

“But it’s stealing,” Morgan says.

“It’s not stealing when they have no right to have any of it,” Grima counters. “Now, are you going to help me, or am I going to have to fall back on Risen workers _again?_ ”

Morgan frowns, but she does not forsake him.

“I’ll help you, Master,” she says. “We’re not attacking them or anything. And… if we’re going to take their things anyway, I… I would really like to have one of those festive decorated trees…”

Grima nods.

“You’ll have your pick of all of them,” he promises. His apprentice, like Grima himself, has never had these kinds of delights. She deserves them far more than these human children. This is the right thing to do.

With that thought in mind, Grima gets to work.

It is not terribly difficult to construct a sleigh. It must be large to accommodate the festival ornaments he will be piling in it, but he has no trouble collecting enough lumber for it with his powerful body.

Far more inconvenient is the red suit he has to make. He stands still in his terrible human form for hours as Morgan carefully arranges magic-dyed animal furs into a garment tailored to his figure.

“You look adorable, Master Grima!” she says when she finally finishes.

Grima scowls, but his apprentice’s enthusiasm does not in any way dull.

It does not matter. No one aside from Morgan will see him like this, a vibrant figure cloaked in soft splendor that would not look out of place amongst the brightly costumed humans that gather on the day of the festival…

He loathes them so. But soon, everything will change. Their obnoxious joy will fall to silence. The people of Ylisstol will see that, without their trinkets and lights and utter nonsense, they are like everyone else: miserable and alone

“Come, Morgan,” he says. The hour is late and their sleigh is ready to go. “It is time to put an end to this worthless human tradition.”

It does not take long to reach the town. Morgan is strong, quick, and silent in her dragon form. Her scales are even darker than Grima’s own would be—a rich purple-black that blends well into the night sky—and she appears like a shadow where she lands on the roof of one of the humans’ dwellings.

Ylisstol is quiet. The humans are all sleeping. Everything is perfect.

“Don’t move until I return,” Grima says, glancing briefly at his apprentice as he approaches the chimney. There is no smoke rising from it, and it should be perfectly safe to enter the house this way. Not that fire would injure him too terribly, anyway.

“This is so strange,” Morgan whispers. “Why ‘Santa Claus’ would enter a home in such a peculiar manner is beyond me… Please be careful, Master.”

Grima does not respond, for he is already sliding down the chimney, an empty bag trailing behind him. When he plops out the other end, covered in ash, he has to quickly stifle a cough. The work he is doing is distasteful, but it will be worth it in the end, he is sure. 

The first thing that catches his eye are the colorful stockings hung just above the fireplace. They do not look like anything the humans would actually find stylish, and furthermore, the three stockings hung are all different colors. Clearly not a matched set, clearly not to be worn, clearly useless things… 

Grima shoves them angrily into his bag.

He makes his way around the house, placing every single holiday item into his bag. The presents so carefully wrapped in sparkling paper, the ribbons and holly and decorative wreaths hung on the walls, the tender roasts and creamy sauces and sweet baked goods—all must go! 

The last remainder of festivity in the house gives him pause. The ornamental tree… It is something like this that Morgan wants. He does not quite understand. There are plenty of trees out in nature. Are they not beautiful enough? Surely the baubles hung on the branches are not what impresses his apprentice so much. She is not one to be fooled by vanity… Is she?

Still, he will give this to her. He will give her every tree in this town. She is loyal to him and deserves to be rewarded. Not like these humans…

He gives the house one last look of disgust before he pushes the tree and himself back up the chimney. He can still hear three humans breathing as they sleep the night away. They are at peace, secure in the knowledge that they will wake up to endless delights.

Stupid creatures. Nothing in life is ever guaranteed.

Through a combination of his own muscles and a bit of magical power, Grima easily gets himself and his gains back up the chimney, popping out next to Morgan with far more grace than he had landed inside with.

He opens his mouth and is about to speak when an unfamiliar voice interrupts him.

“Excuse me. Are you this dragon’s master?” 

Morgan shifts, and suddenly Grima can see the human in front of him. The blue-haired man is wearing a similar outfit to Grima’s, though it is more intricately detailed. He wears a matching hat on his head, and he holds over his shoulder a sack that is obviously full of _something._

… Santa Claus _is_ only a myth, right?

“I suppose you could say that,” Grima answers quickly. The fact that the man was surely not asking in the context of apprenticeship does not change the fact that Grima is technically speaking the truth.

“Am I to take it that you are the one playing Santa Claus this year?” the man asks. “My name is Chrom, and I have always been the one to do it… But I can see that you have beaten me to this house.”

Grima pauses, but only momentarily. He is a quick thinker, and he rises to the occasion.

“So nobody has told you,” he says smoothly. “How unfortunately troublesome. But no, your services will not be needed here tonight.”

“I see…” Chrom sighs. “Mayor’s orders, hmm?”

“So it would seem,” Grima says.

“Well, strange as it is,” Chrom says. “Far stranger is that you appear to be taking things _away_ from this house. Is your job not to deliver them?”

“Ah, you see…” Grima says. “There was a bit of a misunderstanding. These presents are all wrong. So I was going to take them away, and… Well, by tomorrow, all the people will receive what they truly deserve.

Chrom’s gaze is intense, but he does not challenge Grima’s claims.

“That sounds like a difficult task,” is all he says.

“But it is one that I am more than willing to carry out,” Grima says, a bitter smile rising to his lips at the thought of the humans facing their just deserts.

“Even so,” Chrom says, “perhaps I can help you.”

Grima blinks. Why would this stranger want to do his work for him?

“That is unnecessary,” he says.

“You won’t have very much time if you try to do everything alone,” Chrom says. “And I’m already here. I may as well help my fellow Santa. Tell me; how many houses do you have to visit? I’ll help you correct your mistakes.”

Grima grits his teeth. He can’t think of a good reason to say no.

“If you insist,” he mutters, turning away. “Morgan, get ready. I want to get this done as quickly as possible.”

Morgan makes a grunt of agreement, as though she were some lesser dragon. She is smart enough to know better than to talk to him with a human present, though Grima admittedly had been concerned that she would be too trusting to exercise caution. 

Chrom climbs into the sleigh next to him, and together they ride to the house just across the street. The human keeps shooting him curious looks, but the two of them do not converse. Morgan lands with a quiet thump onto the snow-covered roof, and Grima immediately disembarks.

“The family living here doesn’t have much…” Chrom says quietly, following behind. “Surely there is nothing here for you to… ‘correct’…”

Grima scowls. If the family has so little, why would they waste their precious resources on a frivolous festival? He is only taking what the humans have in excess. There is nothing unjust about his actions.

Inside, Grima’s conceptions are only reinforced. There is a tree decorated with silver tinsel and a variety of brightly-colored baubles. Beneath it sits four nutcrackers all in a line, a family of useless toys that do not even look sturdy enough to serve their supposed function.

“What need have they for any of this?” he mutters as he begins to shove things into his bag. “If anything, it is these people who should be hoarding roasts and pies.”

In fact, their kitchen has nothing but the barest essentials for human nutrition. Grima cannot fault them for that, and he leaves the room be. 

“On the day of the winter festival, everyone shares in a grand feast,” Chrom says quietly. “There’s no need to ‘hoard,’ as you say.”

“There’s no _need_ for any of this,” Grima says. “There is no need for a festival at all. And yet it comes every year…”

“The festival brings us peace and happiness,” Chrom says. “I would not call those things unnecessary.”

Grima does not reply, already absorbed in stuffing everything back up the chimney.

Peace and happiness. Ha. Humans are not peaceful creatures, and their happiness is but selfishness. One human’s happiness entails another’s misery. There is no equality among that species…

The next house is even more sickening. Displayed prominently above the fireplace is a portrait of two humans, a parent and a child. They are dressed in garish red and green sweaters, and the hideous contrast is almost as blinding as their grins.

How could they possibly be happy like that? Because of some ridiculous holiday-appropriate thread? They’re lying to themselves, if anything.

“Winter is a time of death and famine,” Grima says beneath his breath.

No matter how much the humans smile, they cannot change that.

“It’s the end of one cycle,” Chrom says behind him. Grima had not realized that he was listening so closely. “But it’s the precursor to another. Every ending is a new beginning.”

“And so every new beginning entails a new end,” Grima says. “It ends, and it ends again, until you meet your own end and are no longer there to see the cycle begin again.”

“Yes,” Chrom agrees. “But isn’t that all the more reason for us to celebrate while we can?”

“You could use your time better,” Grima says, and with a flash of magic they’re on the roof again.

Chrom lets the matter drop, perhaps because the cold wind outside makes it harder to speak. They go through the next several houses without much commentary, sparing only a few words of attempted comfort when 

“This is Cordelia’s house,” he says, smiling at Grima. “Let’s hurry. I’m curious about something”

With that cryptic comment, he jumps down the chimney. Grima follows, but when he exits, he doesn’t immediately see Chrom.

After almost a minute, Chrom returns, holding a plate in his hands. On it rest several discs of dough, cooked to a golden brown. The crumbs around Chrom’s mouth suggest that he has already consumed at least one.

“Well, are you feeling hungry?” Chrom asks, extending the plate towards Grima. “These are for us, so help yourself.”

“For… us?” Grima narrows his eyes in confusion.

“Well, for Santa Claus,” Chrom says. “It’s a hard job, after all. We like to leave him a little something to show our appreciation. Like these cookies, for example”

“So these ‘cookies’ are… an offering,” Grima says. It brings back memories of ancient times, back when he foolishly thought that humans might be trustworthy enough to form alliances with. They supplied him with blood, but denounced him for taking it. Traitorous worms…

“Not at all,” Chrom says. “It’s a gift. There are no strings attached.”

Grima blinks. There must be some trick. Humans do not do anything without a reward.

“But if Santa Claus does not deliver what you want, you…” Grima looks expectantly at Chrom.

“We would hope that he’s feeling okay,” Chrom says. “And perhaps we might hope that our gifts have helped him in some way.”

Chrom grabs one of the cookies from the platter and places it into Grima’s hand.

Grima stares at the confection and then, slowly, he brings it to his lips.

“It’s…” Crumbs fall from his mouth, and he hastens to wipe them away. “It’s… good.”

It is perhaps the best thing that Grima has ever tasted, actually. And he cannot understand why the humans would give it away freely.

“I’m glad,” Chrom says. “Take as many as you like. And perhaps one for your dragon, as well?”

It’s not a bad idea… Grima takes another cookie, placing it into the pocket of his robe to give Morgan later. She will surely enjoy it. He just hopes it doesn’t cause her to become even more taken with the humans.

Chrom doesn’t say anything more to him as Grima removes the festival decorations from around the house. His gaze is searching but not suspicious, yet Grima somehow feels an accusation in those deep blue eyes. The cookie feels like a stone weighing him down. He has taken something the humans have offered in gratitude for a service he has not performed. His sense for injustice has been triggered, and that is why he is uncomfortable now, surely. But he need not be. The humans already had the scales tipped in their favor. It is not injustice to balance them. He is the equalizer here, the one putting everyone back to their natural state. It is the right thing to do…

He hurries back to the roof.

“The sun will rise soon,” he mutters. “We need to hurry.”

It would not do for the humans to wake up and see him. It’s bad enough that Chrom here is a witness. If he does not remove himself from the town soon, the humans will track him down, and they will demand his surrender if not his death. They will pay for such threats. And in the end, he and Morgan will have to leave a perfectly good cave for good. Again.

“No,” Chrom says softly. “This was the last house.”

“But…” Grima turns his head towards the only house he has not visited. It is large and opulent, and surely it is full to the brim with waste.

“That’s the mayor’s house,” Chrom says. “He hasn’t celebrated the winter festival inside it for the past two years. It used to be his sister’s place, before she passed away. She loved the festival. It hurts him too much now to see those halls decorated without her. His other sister lives with her husband and son, and so, you see, he would be all alone with nothing but painful memories.”

“And yet he would still watch the town lose their minds with excitement over the holiday every year?” Grima asks. “Why?”

“The mayor wants to see others happy,” Chrom says. “There is joy in that. Indeed, giving to others, for no reason but to see them smile… That is the entire reason this festival exists.”

“So you say,” Grima says, though he does not believe it. Humans are not that kind. They just want goodwill for themselves. Perhaps that is the game they are playing here. If they gain more than the worth of the effort they put in…

“I can’t make you believe,” Chrom says. “But you should try seeing it for yourself. When you bring the presents back later, everyone will be happy. Tell me then if you’re not moved.”

“Later…” Grima echoes. “Right…”

He said he would bring the people what they deserve. But they do not deserve any of the frivolities in his sacks. He will bring them nothing at all. Nothing but a life lesson.

“But before you go…” Chrom says, stepping closer to Grima. “There’s one thing I want to give you.”

From his own bag, Chrom pulls out a small dome-shaped object made of glass. He holds it up to Grima’s face, and upon inspection, Grima can see that it contains a replica of Ylisstol. A light touch of magic allows small crystals of frost to swirl around like snow inside the dome.

“The craftsmanship is impressive…” Grima says. He reaches out to touch it, only for Chrom to place it in his hand.

Grima closes his eyes.

“Giving me this will not change anything,” he says flatly. 

He used to be worshipped. This paltry trinket is nothing compared to the riches the power-hungry have offered him.

“Yes it will,” Chrom says as Grima’s eyes flutter back open. “Now you’ll have a present.”

Chrom’s eyes shine with an earnestness rarely seen in humans.

Grima curls his fingers around the snow globe. It really is quite lovely.

“I… am leaving now,” he says. 

As Morgan begins to fly away, he does not understand the ache that springs to life in his chest. He glances down, catching one final glimpse of Chrom smiling at him, and the ache grows worse.

The trip back to the mountains is made in silence.

“Morgan,” Grima says eventually. In the safety of their cave, his apprentice has returned to her human appearance. In the safety of their cave, he could return to his dragon appearance. But he does not. “Do you think this object could be cursed?”

He still holds the snow globe in his hands. He has not let go of it since Chrom has given it to him, and his chest has not ceased to hurt since then, either. 

He sets it carefully on the ground, but he does not feel better.

Morgan blinks, glancing between him and the snow globe.

“No…” She answers. The way she is angled, he cannot see her expression. “No one in the world is powerful enough to curse you, Master.”

“Right…” Of course Grima is too powerful to be harmed by weak human magic.

“Please, Master Grima… Sleep now.” When Morgan turns to look at him, her eyes are wide and pleading. “You’ve been using a lot of power, so you must be tired. That’s all. Sleep, and in the morning…”

“In the morning, there will be no raucous holiday uproar to wake me up,” Grima says. “Yes… I could use the rest.”

It is true that it takes a lot of power to sustain this human form. If he feels strange, that must be why. 

“Good…” Morgan whispers. “Good night…”

But of course, it is not night. It is very early in the morning, and it is not long until the sun rises. It is not long after the sun rises that the people of Ylisstol begin to wake. And it is not long after the people of Ylisstol wake that Grima himself is roused from his slumber.

It does not make sense, but the humans are singing.

Immediately, Grima springs to his feet, rushing outside to see how the humans could be in such good cheer. Did some mythical Santa Claus come after all? Were their possessions somehow restored?

But no. Grima can see with all six of his dragon eyes that the town is completely devoid of decorations. The humans are all singing in a circle, but there is no festive tree at their center. There are no toys littering the streets. There are no blinding decorations about. The humans have nothing… And yet still they sing.

“Morgan!” he snaps.

“Um… Yes?” Morgan steps out sheepishly not from inside the cave, but from around the other side of the cliff face.

Grima narrows his eyes, but he does not demand an excuse from her.

“Why are they singing?” he asks. “How can they be happy? They have nothing, just like every other miserable creature in the world! So how can they… Morgan, how can they be happy?”

“Well…”

But Morgan does not have to answer. Grima can hear another voice ringing out loud and clear.

“Friends!” Chrom calls out to the crowd of people surrounding him. “The Winter Festival has come, and we have no feasts, toys, or ornaments. But we have something much more important than that. We have our town, and we have each other. And that is worth celebrating!”

The humans cheer for their mayor… Chrom must be their mayor, though Grima had not known it until now. His pulse quickens. Chrom must have known that he was not supposed to be there...

“But Chrom!” someone says from the crowd. “How did this happen? Who would pass over all our money and jewelry to steal only our festival?”

“Perhaps,” Chrom says slowly. “It was someone who needed the kindness more than us.”

His gaze flickers in the direction of the mountains. With his lesser human eyesight, it is impossible for him to see Grima. Nevertheless, Grima meets his gaze.

“The Winter Festival is a celebration of giving,” Chrom continues. “And kindness is the one thing we can all afford, be we rich or poor, young or old, strong or weak… Indeed, sometimes kindness is the only thing we can count on.”

“Fool...” Grima murmurs. “Humans only care about their personal interests…”

But is that really the truth? It isn’t what he saw in Ylisstol. The people do not seem to expect anything in return for what they give. And they are not angry now that they have nothing. They are not miserable.

And Chrom… Chrom knew all of this. He let Grima leave, though he surely knew that Grima had no intention of ever coming back. He did it… as a kindness. A kindness to Grima, of all beings.

The pain in Grima’s chest returns, and he knows that he does not deserve any gift from these people.

With a flash of light, Grima once again takes on a human appearance. 

“Master Grima?” Morgan’s eyes widen. He has never transformed without explanation before, so it is no wonder that she is shocked.

“Morgan…” His voice cracks as he speaks. “I have to go back…”

“... Why?” Morgan asks. 

“Because I was…” Grima hesitates to say the final word, but it is the truth. “Wrong.”

The people of Ylisstol have not been hiding their misery with festivity. Somehow, they have figured out how to be happy on their own. For once, Grima finds himself feeling something other than contempt for these humans. Instead, what he feels is… longing.

“So… We’re going to give everyone their things back...?” Morgan asks slowly.

“Yes,” Grima says, grimacing. “I know what I told you before, but in light of new circumstances…”

“Um, actually,” Morgan interrupts nervously. “The sleigh is already prepared... ”

She doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You were going to go back on your own,” Grima says, finally realizing his apprentice’s plan. She would have betrayed him, and if he were of the same mind he had been just a day earlier, he would have punished her severely for it. But he can hardly chastise her when he has already admitted that he did not act correctly. “How convenient for us now.”

Morgan sighs in relief, giving him a small smile.

“Since everything is ready, let’s head out right away,” she says. “If we hurry, they’ll still have time to set up their feast.”

And indeed, the trip is short. Morgan flies like she’s doing a training exercise and trying to impress him. If it weren’t for his magic keeping them still, he’s certain several sacks would have been knocked out of the sleigh before reaching Ylisstol.

He can hear the humans’ clamor long before they reach the ground. They do not know what is coming, for their stories do not tell of a dragon-pulled sleigh. But when Morgan lands in the center of the town, all the human children begin to cheer.

“It’s Santa Claus!” a girl exclaims.

“He came after all!”

“He brought us toys!”

“He brought us food!”

“He brought us all our decorations back!”

“Thank you, Santa!”

Though the children’s screeching is loud, the noise fades into the back of his mind as soon as he feels a hand press against his back.

“So you made it back after all,” Chrom says. 

Grima looks up into the warm eyes of Ylisstol’s mayor. 

“You expected this outcome,” Grima says.

“I didn’t,” Chrom says. “Truly, I didn’t. I just thought that anyone who would go through so much trouble to pick up only our festival items must have some reason for doing so. We can hold a party any time.”

“My reasoning was flawed,” Grima says. “You aren’t happy because you hold the festival. You hold the festival because you’re happy.”

“That’s right,” Chrom says. “Is that why you came back? To join us in celebrating?”

“No,” Grima says quickly. “I’m not staying. I am a creature of despair. You will not remain happy in my presence.”

He would like to stay. But he does not belong among humans. It is more than clear that he does not understand them.

“I don’t believe that,” Chrom says. “You know, when you looked at me before, after I gave you that snow globe… It seemed like you might have been happy.”

Grima frowns.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It wasn’t the object. It was…”

It was Chrom. It was his eyes. It was his warmth breaking through Grima’s freezing world.

But Grima does not know how to speak these truths.

Chrom once again wears an earnest expression. As though he cares about what Grima is going to say.

“Well… I wish you would stay,” Chrom says when it becomes obvious that Grima is not going to continue. “Maybe you’ll figure it out.”

“Can we?” Morgan’s voice has Grima whirling around. With all the humans crowding around the sleigh, he had not seen her transform. “The townspeople said I could help them decorate, and…”

She shifts nervously on her feet. This is her first real opportunity to interact with humans. His wary mind screams that it is dangerous, but…

Chrom extends a hand.

“You’re both welcome here,” he says. “We have plenty to go around.”

“Okay,” Grima says.

As his fingers curl around Chrom’s hand, his heart whispers that he is making the right choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit 12/25/18: EVERYBODY PLEASE STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING AND LOOK AT THIS AMAZING ART [@levin-swort](https://levin-swort.tumblr.com/) did of the final scene [here](https://levin-swort.tumblr.com/post/181411307486/hikikomoridaisukeyoshida-asked-grima-x-chrom)


End file.
